Unfinished Business

Chapter 29 : Private Conversations

June, 2273

He had meditated, and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. And so he rose, and added a heavy sweater to his loose pants and tee shirt, and roamed the deserted corridors of the the ship's night. At length he found himself once again approaching the mess hall, and decided on a cup of soothing herbal tea, that might help him to relax. When he turned, steaming cup in hand, there she sat, staring at him. He crossed the room, and looked down at her, but before he could speak she was waving her hand at the chair across from her, so he sat down, filled both with joy and trepidation. For she was watching him intently, and somehow he knew that the time had come at last, when they must speak of what had caused their separation, and the pain that each of them had endured.

She used words very similar to those he had uttered to her, not so very long ago. "I guess you can't sleep, either."

"No, I could not. I find that my mind is full of many things, which have not been resolved, and so prevent me from achieving the peace necessary to satisfying sleep."

She nodded her head. "I know just what you mean." She sighed then, and turned her cup about on the table. She continued to speak, not lifting her eyes from where they were focused on that still-full cup. "There are things we need to talk about, Spock."

"I am aware of this. I will attempt to discuss these things whenever you are ready."

She sighed again. And then she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "I don't know whether I'll actually ever be desirous of doing this, but it needs to be done. We need to put this past us, or we're never going to get beyond it. Never going to be able to trust one another again."

"If you cannot trust me, I fully understand. However, I do wish to amend that situation. What do you require from me?"

"Tell me, Spock, in your own words, what you feel happened there."

He did not need any further specifications. He knew exactly what she was referring to. He took a deep breath, and slowly began to speak. "I awoke to find you in great pain. I did not know the cause. I raised the lights and saw the blood. I was alarmed, and concerned for you. But when I attempted to aid you, you screamed at me, and cursed at me, and told me to leave you and never return."

She gasped, and sat up straighter, looking at him. "I did?"

He nodded, concentrating on containing himself. "You raised your fists, and pummeled my body, and refused to allow me to sooth you, closing down the link between us almost completely. And so I did the only thing I could think of, and carried you to the flitter we had rented, and took you to the city, to the medical center. By the time we arrived there, you were not really conscious, and they took you away quickly. I stood there, in the corridor, with your blood, and that of our child, upon my clothing, and mourned, full of grief and shock."

She was crying now, silently, tears streaming down her face. He wanted to reach out a hand and brush them away, but he did not trust himself, not at all. He himself might start crying if he touched her now.

"I could not think. The sounds of your voice, the things you had said, the blame you had placed upon me, continued to circulate through my mind, and were all that I could comprehend. And when the doctor came out and told me it was as I feared, that the child was lost, something inside of me broke. I did not feel that you wished to have me there, to confront you when you awoke, and I wished to cause you no further pain. And so I returned to the cabin, and packed our belongings, and returned to the medical center and left your things, and paid all the bills, and left."

Her lips trembled, and her hands twisted about the forgotten cup before her. "And you broke our bond."

He jerked upright now, staring at her in astonishment. "I did not! I could not have done that, Nyota. I shut it down to the merest trickle, only enough to assure me that you still lived. Had I broken it, I would have fully broken my own sanity. It is not broken. I assure you that it is still there."

She looked at him, both eyes and mouth wide open, astonishment written plainly across her face. "The bond is not broken? I am still your adun'a?"

"Most certainly. And I am still your adun. That has not changed."

"I thought… I thought you had abandoned me. That you no longer desired me, because I could not give you a healthy child. I thought…. Spock, I did not remember what I had said when I was in pain and shock. I did not mean those things, not at all. When I awoke, and they told me that you had left, I … I…. I thought you did not want me any more. I could not feel the bond at all, and I was so empty, so alone. I thought it was broken."

He did reach across the table now, and touch her fingers, so tentatively. "It is not broken. It would cost my life to break it." His voice was rough, and low, and choked with the tears he had not shed, although they were so close, so very close.

They sat there, in silence, for some time, thinking about what the other had said. Eventually, she raised her eyes to him again. "We both misunderstood the other. We have caused our own pain. When we should have been together, sharing our grief, we were apart, blaming ourselves for sending the other away."

He nodded, certain that all she had said was true. "We were filled with grief, and could not think clearly. And so we committed actions which only made our grief worse." He sighed. "My father came to Gol, when he had determined somehow that that was where I was, and tried to get me to leave, to come home with him, and consult with healers. But I was too far consumed with grief and pain to consider what he said, to believe that there was any other solution for me. If I did not have you in my life, I had no life to consider. All joy was fled, and it did not matter to me what happened after that." In spite of his attempts to control it, a tear rolled down his cheek. He made no attempt to hide it whatsoever.

She clenched her fingers about his, and shook. "I was so ill, for so long. I think that doctor there missed something. I got to Earth, to Atlanta, and called McCoy and he came and took me to his home, and cared for me. I was so depressed. I am not sure that I have many memories of that time, even now. Nor do I wish to. I do not wish to endure that kind of pain ever again. I want to heal, Spock, I want to be me again."

Very, very hesitantly, he lifted one hand from where she had them clenched between hers, and with one long finger, wiped away the tears from her face. "Then you shall heal, Nyota, for that is what is necessary for it to occur, the wanting, the desire to be whole again." Another tear rolled down his cheek, and she marveled to see it, and in her heart, the terrible tight band of her despair released, and she shook with the shock of it, the feeling that somehow things would get better now. She laid her head down on the table, cushioning it on their clasped hands, and shivered, trying to recover her equilibrium. He did not move, nor speak, only sat there with her, and continued to hold her hands.

At length, she took in a long, deep breath, and let it out in shudders, and lifted her head from the table, and straightened up, dropping his hands. "I need to think. I need to be alone for a while."

He nodded. There was certainly much to think about. He rose, and took their untouched cups of tea to the busing station and returned to her, and she rose and tucked her hand into his elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder. And so they went slowly down the corridors to her quarters, and she tapped the touchplate by her door, going to stand in the open doorway before turning to look at him once more. "I am still your adun'a."

It was most definitely not a question. "I am still your adun." His eyes did not leave hers, not for one second.

She nodded then, and turned and entered her quarters, and the door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the corridor. He turned and strode unsteadily the remaining distance to his own quarters, and went inside, and thought over everything that had happened between them this night. He did not meditate, he did not sleep, he simply sat and thought.

The next day was Saturday, but she was not in the gym. Nor was she in the mess hall. He began to worry. He considered many possibilities, but only one held any amount of attraction to him at all. And so, at length, he began to search for her. But he did not find her anywhere he looked. He did not give up, he could not give up. He must find her, for he must tell her what he wished.